Youth Is A Mortal Wound.

On Decoration Day, While Everyone Else In Town Was At The Cemetery Decorating The Graves Of Our Glorious War Dead, Willie Beaner And Me, Robert Burns Hewitt, Took Mabel Cramm's Bloomers And Run Them Up The Flagpole In Front Of The Town Hall. That Was The Beginning Of All My Troubles.

A Good Story Is Alive, Ever Changing And Growing As It Meets Each Listener Or Reader In A Spirited And Unique Encounter, While The Moralistic Tale Is Not Only Dead On Arrival, It's Already Been Embalmed. It's Safer That Way. When A Lively Story Goes Dancing Out To Meet The Imagination Of A Child, The Teller Loses Control Over Meaning. The Child Gets To Decide What The Story Means.

Some Folks Are Natural Born Kickers. They Can Always Find A Way To Turn Disaster Into Butter.

I Think, She Began Quietly, I Think We Want... Not Just Bread For Our Bellies. We Want More Than Only Bread. We Want Food For Our Hearts, Our Souls. We Want- How To Say It? We Want, You Know- Puccini Music.... We Want For Our Beautiful Children Some Beauty. She Leaned Over And Kissed The Curl On Her Finger. We Want Roses.

Thus, In A Real Sense, I Am Constantly Writing Autobiography, But I Have To Turn It Into Fiction In Order To Give It Credibility.